


How Sweet The Sound

by BellumGerere



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Bunker Ending (Far Cry), FebuWhump2021, Gen, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/pseuds/BellumGerere
Summary: A little something for day 3 of febuwhump - my take on the Deputy's thoughts during that final scene.
Kudos: 3





	How Sweet The Sound

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting for fc5 but it's one of my favorite games, and when i saw the febuwhump prompt i dug up an old draft of this and did some rewrites to make it work here! i was originally planning to do a longer story about my deputy specifically in the bunker, and i still might at some point, but since that wouldn't happen for a while (i have too many wips lol) it's marked as complete, and i think it still stands well on its own! -bel

_You know what this means?_

Rook had long ago given up struggling to get out of the handcuffs. She’d carried them around for months, even had to use them on others once or twice—she knew there was no point, that she wouldn’t get out unless he wanted her to. Besides, what good would trying to escape do? It wasn’t as if anything she might find out there would be better than this. At least down here, she had clean air, and drinkable water, and enough food to last a decade if she was careful about it. Outside was only fire, heat and destruction.

Then again, out there she wouldn’t have to listen to Joseph Seed.

_It means the politicians have been silenced. It means the corporations have been erased. It means the world has been cleansed by God’s righteous fire._

She had been able to hold his gaze for barely a minute before she’d given up completely and laid back down on the hard stone floor, in nearly the same position she’d woken up in. Things were easier that way. If she tilted her head at the right angle, she wouldn’t have to look at Dutch’s body, or at the radio across the room, the promise of information just out of her reach. She could still see _him_ , though, in the corner of her vision, staring at her with the same unnerving intensity with which he seemed to do everything. It was only made worse by the lack of yellow lenses as a barrier between them, by the blood streaked across his face, yet another grim reminder of their new reality. She was sure she didn’t look much better; she could already feel the dull, throbbing pain of bruises forming on her arms, her legs, her sides, and all she could do was hope that none of her wounds would prove fatal.

_But most of all…it means I was right._

The words had been bouncing around in her skull since they left his mouth, and in the deafening silence the horrible truth of them was starting to set in. Ever since she’d come to Hope County, the people had shrugged off his idea of an apocalypse, even as many of them fortified bunkers in their own backyards. They told her it was a method of coercion, of control, and nothing more, and it was all too easy to believe them—how many others had done the same thing? Surely there was nothing that set him apart, except there _was_ , and she regretted not having somehow seen it sooner.

_The Collapse has come. The world as we know it is over. I waited so long…I waited so long for the prophecy God whispered in my ear to be fulfilled._

Even more painful than that was the thought of her friends—of her colleagues, more than likely lying dead outside, possibly even mere feet from the bunker door. She had already been drifting in and out of consciousness when he pulled her from the wreckage, and she had tried not to look at the other passengers just as she tried not to look at Dutch now. There were dozens of bunkers littered across the county; with no access to the radio, and all other methods of communication closed off to her, her best chance of retaining her sanity was to believe that everyone she loved had made it to one of them.

_I prepared my family for this moment…and you took them from me._

She didn’t know how long she laid there, only that every so often she could hear him shifting in the chair that had once been Dutch’s, adjusting to a more comfortable position. He had that luxury, she thought bitterly, feeling the pain in her neck from keeping her head turned, in the back of her head from resting it on the concrete, in her wrists from the cold grip of the cuffs—in her whole body, pulsing until it created a numbness that was almost its own form of comfort. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Without water, she would only live a few days in this fresh hell.

_I should kill you for what you’ve done._

But she was under no illusion that he intended to be so merciful.

_But you’re all I have left now. You’re my family._

Rook wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t shifting deliberately in order to keep her awake whenever her eyes began to slip closed, dragged down by exhaustion and pain. She had barely found any time to rest since that night at the compound—only _two months_ ago, she’d realized with no small amount of surprise, all of this had happened within _two months_ —and it was all catching up to her now, a crushing weight on her chest that got harder to lift with every inhale. When was the last time she’d slept in an actual _bed_ , and not a sleeping bag in the back of a truck, or the couch in the apartment above the Spread Eagle, or a cot at the county jail? Before everything, certainly. Back when she’d had a stable life, and a stable job, and Eden’s Gate was nothing more than a group with some eccentric beliefs.

_And when this world is ready to be born anew, we will step into the light._

The bunker still shook occasionally, dust raining from the ceilings as the aftershocks made the ground above them quake. It was the only thing she could hear other than the occasional scrape of his chair on the floor, of fabric shifting as he adjusted his position, though he never took his eyes off her. Each explosion above them left a ringing in her ears, and once it faded, there was nothing.

_I am your Father and you are my child._

She remembered hearing somewhere that it took the average person three days to die of dehydration. Three days wouldn’t be so bad. And certainly, he wouldn’t try to _force_ her to drink, would he? In the back of her uneasy mind she knew the answer to that question, though she didn’t dare voice it—it would be easier if she didn’t talk to him at all, though she wasn’t sure how long her resolve would last in that regard. She was too on edge to be comfortable with the silence for much longer. And if she was going to let herself die, she sure as hell wouldn’t leave this world alone.

_And together, we will march to Eden’s Gate._

**Author's Note:**

> gonna be honest i really want to continue this someday specifically because i spent nine years in catholic school and i want to use my bible knowledge for Something skdlfjsklfjsklf


End file.
